


Venetian Clarity

by madwanderer



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Multi, Rough Sex, threeway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwanderer/pseuds/madwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>| Rumpelstiltskin/Alice/Jefferson; in which both men strive like peacocks to show off their wealth and possessions, and Alice is an unwitting, vividly blue feather.<br/>Somehow inspired by moments of watching a man breathe life to a striding horse out of glass in no more than five pulls from the flames. |</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venetian Clarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madlittlegrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlittlegrace/gifts).



She was his _prize_.

She was a possession; to be shown off and slung off his arm in much the same way one would present a coat, a trophy, a pet— she was treated in much the same manner.  
Though he was far more gentle with her than one would be with a pet, a coat— he held her like she could have been comprised of only the finest of silks; and he daren’t jostle her, lest she shatter like Venetian glass.

Spun-glass, that’s what she was. A woman borne of flames and glass; pulled outwards and pinched and spun by a craftsman’s practiced hands until she bore resemblance of a woman— the most beautiful he had ever seen created; a spun Aphrodite, rivaling even nature’s most stunning orchards with her beauty.

And thus, she was just as such to him. His Alice; the girl from Wonderland that had captivated him so; the only thing that he had ever kept to him aside from his hat.

His only proper possession— and the only thing he had ever truly cared for, for reasons beyond obtaining more _gold_. (His hat was a means of obtaining gold and adventure; his hat allowed him to acquire. Alice provided none of this— yet she was his to keep, as wanted as the gold that glinted in his eyes when he twisted it between his fingers.)  
A treasure beyond anything he’d ever seen, and something he found looked far better on him than any of his extravagant coats or scarves or rings could even dare.

So of course he had to show her off to the imp. Of course he had to bring her into the Pink Palace; the girl cooing and _aww_ -ing at all the varying things littering the home, despite her original distaste for the must odor. He’d brought her in and clutched her hand tightly when he’d finally found Rumpelstiltskin (Spinning in his own daze, as always, brought only out of it by a rather loud throat-clearing from the Hatter,) and grinned when the man’s gaze had flitted from himself and lingered upon the golden doll standing before him, the girl who was staring back in just as much curiosity as Rumpelstiltskin was showing towards her.

"He who gifts us our gold, that’s him? Who allows for my dresses and perfumes, my toys?” She spoke in nearly a whisper— his Alice was quiet, excited but so used to being _shush'd_ that her voice was low on its own, sweet, soft in the tone a little girl might use when she played with her dolls. There was no disgust in her tone— only curiosity,a fascination punctuated by the way she tugged at Jefferson's hand, wanting to draw nearer to the strange man with the lizard's skin.  
"Yes, poppet—" He’d remarked, but he shook his head and drew her back to him when she pulled— he knew not to simply let Alice go; for she was far too affectionate and physical, curious in a demanding way— and he wanted her to impress the imp, not irritate him. "—He’s the reason for your silk and porcelain dolls; you can sense the power off of him, can’t you?"

She had magic— magic she didn’t know of, but he was all too aware. Something akin to faerie’s magic— an imagination that truly knew no bounds, that spurted itself over in Wonderland. But magic was corruption, and he could never allow her this knowledge— for if she were to know of the power she held, his sweet Alice may simply be no more, and the man before them was more than proof of that.

"Of course… it’s as thick as the smog back home." She nodded, waving a hand in the air in front of her as though waving aside some smoke he couldn’t see.

"You speak of me like I’m not here." Finally, Rumpelstiltskin spoke— and Alice gasped, tugging again at Hatter’s hand but he wouldn’t let her go, and she looked from Rumpel to Jefferson, then back to Rumpel, utter delight etching itself onto her features—

"You’ve finished!" He had been turned from them up until that point, though now he stood, facing them rather than the wheel and drawing closer to the two. Jefferson squeezed Alice’s hand as a reminder of their talk— _behave, my dear, behave and keep your hands still_ — and she had to fight to keep from reaching out; to feeling the texture of the man’s skin, to taking his waving hair into her own hands, the hair that looked like a raven’s wings and much the same as her sister’s did when she removed it from her braids. She was excited— she’d wanted to meet him since Jefferson had mentioned him all those months ago— but it’d taken some time, as he only went to see the imp when the imp called for him, an unspoken rule between the two.

This time, though, he’d been with his Alice— he’d stolen her away from her own land, replaced her with some drunk, and when Rumpel had requested his presence, for the first time, his Alice was with him.  
Rumpel came closer— and Jefferson could feel his lover tense (In excitement, again, how funny it was that she didn’t find any of this disgusting—) when the man dragged his finger’s down Alice’s jawline— seeming to inspect her, his eyes raking her body, his thumb pressed for a moment against the girl’s pulse point, just beneath her jaw. 

Hatter had tensed as well when his thumb had been pressed against the woman’s pulse, for as much as he trusted the man he knew of his danger, his instability, greed. Rumpel laughed— pulled his hand back, much to Alice’s chagrin, who had been leaning somewhat into the touch, gauging the texture of his fingers. (Dry, lined, feeling like she’d imagined scales would feel, if anyone had ever allowed her to hold a snake.)

"I won’t hurt her." The spinner spoke again, and Jefferson’s responding smile was somewhat guilty, and in his distraction Alice had pulled away from him— had moved to Rumpel, distracted and completely fixated on this man, this creature.

"You…" She hummed, and she stood on her tiptoes to trace out the line of his jaw just as he had done to her, ignoring how rigid he had gone, her fingers soft and pliant against his coarse skin, "…spin _gold_.” Was that the entirety of her infatuation? Though she’d had barely a moment before her Hatter had wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her back, a cry of distress leaving her lips when she’d been denied this.

She was spoiled, really, and it was so rare that Hatter refused her anything that she had slipped into a sulk of sorts, crossing her arms, no longer wriggling against his hold.

Rumpelstiltskin relaxed— that look of shock easily morphing into one of amusement, rubbing at his jaw just where she had touched him. Appearances must be made.

"She’s rather spirited." He quipped, and Hatter just shrugged. Alice’s face flickered between insult and contentedness for a moment, before deciding to take it as a compliment and utterly beaming at Rumple, tapping her fingers on Jefferson’s arm.

"Her name is Alice." Jefferson spoke from behind her, and she nodded, adding a piped-in Alice Liddell! in the momentary silence.

"Alice. —You can let her go, Jefferson, she’s no threat." Alice wriggled again at his words— squirming, pleased when her lover had let her go, returning to Rumpelstiltskin, this time distracting herself with the texture of his hands, bringing one up to her face.

"He’s— oh, he’s made of scales!" She laughed, and both men laughed in turn, though Rumpel’s was far more forced than either could have managed,

“Like a snake, but not one of this world. More beautiful than that. Scales of candle-wax; shining just as such.” Her fingers turned over his as Jefferson, ever-needy, turned up behind her, his hands dragging down her arms; to her sides, until they rested on her hips as she played still, and he let his chin rest atop her head. She dropped the imp’s hands and opted to cup his face in both her hands, and Jefferson was surprised he didn’t pull away— simply allowed her to feel as she pleased, a dainty finger even tracing out his lips.

"Does she do this to everyone you introduce her to?" Rumpel asked— and oh, now, now Hatter could pinpoint the irritation in his tone, and he understood a silent plea to pull Alice away from him, as it seemed Rumpel was yet to want to embarrass her.  
A paternal instinct, perhaps— such a young woman, flighty and that of a child— would it be cruel to slap her hands away, a stranger? It was only right that Jefferson was to lead and control her as he needed— it wasn’t Rumpel’s place, but his patience was wearing far thin.

And so the hatter bent his head low— from the top of her head to just beside her ear, a whisper to her to coax her to let the imp go, and she did, though reluctantly.

"Spirited, you said. Though she is just curious, I do apologise. She’s never seen… well." He explained, and Rumpel just nodded, taking a single step back, seeming to gather his bearings.

He wasn’t very used to such touches, not so unexpectedly, and though he wasn’t against them— he wasn’t wholly fond of them, not when done in such affectionate terms.

Alice hummed, annoyed, somewhat, and Hatter dropped his hold on her hips— let her move about as she liked, though she only went as far as the spinner’s wheel, dragging her fingers over the edges of it, leaving the two men to speak.

"Where’d you meet her?" Rumpel had finally asked, tearing his gaze away from her turned form and realising Jefferson had been staring at her in much the same manner; though perhaps with far more love than Rumpel had, and far less confusion.

What an odd young woman.

"Wonderland." He spoke, though he only looked to Rumpel for a moment before he had returned to looking at Alice, watching, intrigued by how her hair matched the gold piled before her.

Rumpel grinned— of course, only someone such as she would derive from such a strange place.

"Wonderland, really? What was her part?"

"She was only visiting."

"Visiting?"

"Simply so. She was nearly behead, too— she’s lucky I came in to save her."

"Everyone’s beheaded there."

"She’s not everyone."

"So who is she, then, if not _Alice of Wonderland_?"

"Alice of Oxford- the same place that Twist boy came from.”

"Really?"

"Of course. Hate that world, I swear— ruined her, it ruined her, which is why, I suppose, she sought refuge in Wonderland."

"The tragic tale of a mad girl is not to my tastes, dearie," And now Rumpel pursed his lips, taking a step towards Jefferson, speaking lower as they both eyed Alice, now— "What did you bring her here, for?"

Jefferson had to force himself to look away— such a look of love, of admiration and infatuation it had almost stunned Rumpel, who had been so settled in the resolve that Jefferson was nothing more than a petty thief, incapable of such… well, incapable of eyeing Alice in the way he was now. A man so shallow could never be able to possess such emotions, and yet— well, love was such a curious thing, turning men into something they’ve never been.  
"To impress." His answer was simple; and upon hearing that, Alice could be heard with a chorus of ‘Ou est ma chatte?’ from the wheel, though she did not turn around. Of course she thought he meant for her to impress- a second language was impressive, was it not, even if it was one of the few lines she had memorized during her French lessons in her childhood, before she had dropped it entirely?

"That—" Jefferson shook his head at Rumpel, it was nothing to question, and Rumpel simply looked from her to Jefferson again, figuring it was easier to simply drop it.

"So you want to impress?" Rumpel asked, and now he was looking back to the woman, careful to make sure she didn’t harm his wheel, "And how do you intend to do that?"

That answer earned him only a toothy grin from the hatter, who had moved to collect his lover— to gently take hold of her wrist and pull her back from the wheel. She seemed frustrated (Three times she’d been denied, today alone!) but perked up when he whispered in her ear, and Rumpel could only glare on, hating that there were secrets.  
But her smile was mischievous— and his was just as playful, and whatever worry had settled over him dissipated some; it couldn’t be as bad as he might assume, (so paranoid.) if they seemed to act as though it were naught more than a prank.

"A trick I taught her." He remarked, and they both came closer to him, though Jefferson stood in front of him and Alice to his side, taking hold of his wrist as he had just done with Alice’s and leading him to his stool. Rumpel only didn’t argue this out of curiosity— and when he was sat down, and the lithe blonde had kneeled in front of him and pushed his legs apart, did he then understand quite where this was going.

"Better than your hand, Rumpel." Jefferson teased, and the man only shot him a glare— which Jefferson should have recoiled from; but he didn’t, and perhaps that’s why the imp would pamper him so. (He was offered far more gold than his travels were worth, and took even more than he was offered, with little to no complaint from Rumpel himself.)

"You want to impress me with this?" Though he did not quite pull away when Alice began to fiddle with the buttons for his trousers— only proving to the Hatter that this may, in fact, impress him just as he’d expected. Jefferson grinned, moved to the man’s table, took a wooden chair and moved it so he was just to both Alice’s and Rumpel’s side, enough that he could watch comfortably, for a moment almost tempted to kick his feet up onto Rumpel’s thigh, but thankfully thinking better of it.

"I know you’re lonely." If their last… meeting had said anything, desperate, needy touches fueled by alcohol and some odd powder showed only the man’s loneliness- finally, a weakness Jefferson could set foot into, perhaps gleam respect off of the man for finding such a little niche.

It was always about _power_.

"Not lonely, darling…" Alice’s voice was so light, airy from her place on the floor, tugging Rumpel’s pants down until she could fully pull out the imp’s yet-soft cock, holding it gently— it was grotesque how she held it, resembling the way one may hold a daisy, as though about to breathe in its scent. "We’re here, aren’t we? And he has his teacups for company, they’re rather sweet, I’d say." Alice finished that with a short hum, as though admitting teacups held voices to her was entirely normal, and Jefferson just ignored the confused look Rumpel had given him.

A pair of mad lovers, and he wasn’t sure he could adore them or find them infuriating yet; but madness was toxic, bleeding into him as well, and it was all he could do not to get swept up wholly into it, to play their games— the games meant to provide hazes, as Hatter had done with his powders, as Alice was doing now as she slowly began to move both hands along his cock, her lips skimming down the side of it; breathing hotly against him, urging him to look away from the mad man clad in leather on his chair and back to the woman between his legs, the woman with the too-wide eyes and the flax-golden hair and the pale skin that smelled vaguely of the heady scent of tea and the breathtaking scents of a garden.

When he felt her tongue flick out to taste him his thoughts were driven now very far from Jefferson; now taken by the little noise of glee she had emitted, by the soft and wet feel of her tongue running down his length. She was so innocent in this— tasting him like he could imagine she would with one of those ringed candies on sticks; and he swallowed thickly— He was shocked— the touch of an innocent (Could he even call her that?) was so unknown to him, and her hands were nothing like Jefferson’s— were nothing like the whores he may fiddle with in bars, and the quiet wonder that settled across her face was almost heart-warming, if it weren’t for the action she was currently involved in.

"My little rabbit is very greedy…" He could hear Jefferson speak, but he felt he could care less, though he did smirk at the offense Alice seemed to take to that— "She loves to taste, to lap and lick as much as she can, she’s quite the _tease._ ”. 

Her offense then turned to amusement; as though partaking in a private joke with him, and Rumpel could only guess how many times Alice had set herself between the Hatter’s legs like this, feeling him writhing and begging just from her touch, kissing and licking him but refusing his release—

—-He could feel himself growing hard at such a thought, and Alice seemed to take this as encouragement, now kissing— even daring to nip at the tender skin, there. Jefferson simply watched— his interest aroused, of course, but nothing he’d dare to show. Not yet. He could ignore the warmth pooling in his stomach; could instead distract himself with watching Alice, with watching the pretty way her lips shimmered against the odd tone and coloring of the man she knelt before; could admire just the way he tensed when she kissed at the very tip of his hardened arousal, how he tried to prove himself bored— but was failing, and horribly so.

_How long had it been since a woman had touched him so sweetly?_

Jefferson grinned— his little rabbit, so sweet and so soft to the touch, kneeling down and somehow making a whore’s duty look beautiful, innocent— bent between the legs of his own surreal addiction, the man that spun gold and had only fed his lust and greed for all these years.

She had begun bobbing her head— looking up at Rumpelstiltskin occasionally, sated in the belief that his eyes were shut and his hands tensed at his sides only because he wished to keep quiet, as Hatter had done the same when she’d tasted him in public. (A filthy alleyway, in broad daylight, nonetheless, but she had impulses and needs; and he never denied her such things, had never sought to teach her any form of impulse-control.)

It was an interesting technique— so interesting to watch, as her head bobbed up and down the length of his cock, her hair fanned out over her back and dancing over the imp’s knees; the way his face contorted the closer and closer he came to climax— how shocked he had looked when he’d gone to grasp Alice’s hair and had heard a faint rustle, and instead of hair he’d been grasped by both of the Hatter’s hands— a faint, firm mention of _Don’t touch_ from the man’s lips, and whether it was for his fear of him hurting Alice or that it would ruin the game Rumpel didn’t know— he only cared that he had no way of forcing Alice to god, please, move faster, now— only calloused hands to grasp and squeeze tightly in some sort of vengeance, a slight, evil amusement swelling in him when he realised he’d dug his nails so hard into Jefferson’s hands that he’d drawn pinpricks of blood, a faint hiss from the Hatter, though he didn’t pull away.

_Power struggle._

_Don’t appear weak._

And he’d came— Alice giggling at the mess he’d made; how he’d spilled from her mouth when she simply couldn’t swallow all of it, pulling the frilly top of her dress to her mouth to clean it— and then simply thinking better of it, standing up and requesting of Jefferson to remove her dress entirely, allowing him to un-tie her from her corset and to lift the material over her head, silk running gently over her arms.

And then in turn, she had undressed him— pressed against his skin only the kisses of a lover; light and soft and embracing him in every way she could manage, letting contented little noises spill from her lips as he’d stroked her hair as she moved lower and lower, tugging down his trousers, slipping off his boots.

Expectedly, Jefferson would remark that the evening had turned into one of sex. Past impressing Rumple— they’d been strewn across his floor in some deviant act; Alice sandwiched between both men, her Hatter below her and sheathed within her, the imp above her, facing her back and slowly working his way in as well.

She’d screamed— cried, even, when the imp stretched her so wholly that she felt she would tear in two, but wound up needing to soothe Jefferson as her cries had sparked a flash of anger in his eyes; worry for her getting hurt, despite that she had completely begged for them to do this.

_Both of you. Please—please, Hatter, I want—oh, god, —oh god, oh—I want you both! Please!_

And he could feel her tight heat surrounding him—and he’d felt completely overwhelmed, her walls ridged and slick but squeezing around him, the imp’s cock pressing against his so hard he could barely move within her, the friction and heat entirely overwhelming—it had been driving him mad; but it hadn’t been enough.

And he would vaguely recall moving Rumpelstiltskin’s hands from his lover’s back to his own neck—loving, as much as he’d hated to admit it, the raw power emitting from this man—to feel such strength, as power and gold was his own lust, and he knew—knew this show of power, this loss of breath would be enough.

—Besides, they’d done this before.

Alice had grown worried but he’d kissed the girl—a hoarse reassurance leaving him, though it was hard enough to speak with two hands clamped around his throat.  
(What a delightful show of power—strength gathered from magic, grasping and choking to near-death a man that could have, had he not been _the dark one_ , beaten him easily—now surrendered, even grinning beneath such a fatal hold.)

He could remember her face as he’d stilled; lost in the exhilaration, lost in the pleasured look of her face—how dazed she’d been, how swollen her lips were, the deep red tint to her cheeks and the dark lust in her eyes; and yet the utter adoration he could sense in her as she looked down at him, as one hand moved to his cheek and the other settled over Rumpel’s hands, yet still having to will herself not to remove the imp from Jefferson—because her hatter had assured her he was fine, had even asked for such treatment.

And he remembered, through a vision blurring from his lack of oxygen and his ebbing climax, just how beautiful she’d looked when she’d cried out—when Rumpelstiltskin’s slow and labored thrusting into such a cramped area had finally worked her over the edge; how she’d sung just as he loved for her too, so high pitched and breathless, clamping down around him and her hand now gripping his cheek as she fought to regain her breath, twitching and rutting as best she could against both men’s arousals, her eyes nearly rolled back into her head at the sensations. He’d remembered that—and that’s all he had remembered before his own climax had overtaken him; before he’d been gasping and gasping for air with no effect as his hips lifted into both of them; feeling himself spilling heatedly within her—his mind burning at this, at the lack of air coupled with his orgasm, searing, painful—

And at the sudden lack of hands on his throat; that sweet, gulp of air in the middle of his climax sending him entirely reeling, suddenly losing himself in the darkened blue of Alice’s eyes; watching her before his own eyes slipped shut; her look of worry not lost on him, the way she now held his face in both hands through her own exhaustion endearing, coaxing a warm little surge to his heartbeat, but not enough to fight off the waves of sleep and deliria such highs had brought him as his body struggled for the air it had previously been denied.  


Before he fell into the soothing pressure of unconsciousness, he heard a faint squeal of _‘You broke him!’_ from the woman just above him; and he couldn’t help the faded, dizzy grin that had worked its way onto his face


End file.
